


Wants

by the_pen_is_mightier



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Asexual Relationship, Aziraphale has golden stretch marks, Aziraphale loves Crowley, Chubby Aziraphale, Crowley loves Aziraphale, Fluff, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Tenderness, belly kisses, stretch marks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-30
Updated: 2020-07-30
Packaged: 2021-03-05 23:20:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,083
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25613476
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_pen_is_mightier/pseuds/the_pen_is_mightier
Summary: Crowley and Aziraphale hold each other and remind each other that all they want is each other.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 33
Kudos: 154





	Wants

“Aziraphale,” Crowley murmurs, tracing a finger along a single stretch mark on Aziraphale’s belly.

Aziraphale’s eyes have been half-shut, pleased and serene, relaxed under Crowley’s gentle touch. It’s a pattern they’ve grown well used to by now, lying facing each other in bed, shirtless in the heat of the summer and close enough to bridge the distance between them in a moment. Crowley stroking Aziraphale’s soft belly, reverent and slow. Now, though, when his name is said, Aziraphale’s eyes open to meet Crowley’s.

“My angel.” Crowley grins at him, reveling in the sweet curve of his lips, the white fluff of his hair, all the brilliant beauty of him that’s so impossibly near. “Can I ask you something?”

“Mmm.” Aziraphale’s hum comes from deep in his belly, which Crowley has not stopped caressing. It’s a sound of such easy peace that Crowley almost melts with it. Aziraphale, relaxed and peaceful and _blissful_ beside him - what a strange, wonderful center to his chaotic universe. 

“What do you want?” Crowley asks. “Most in the world?” 

Aziraphale smiles. A broad, blessed smile. He takes Crowley’s free hand and, unhesitating, pulls it close to press it against his chest. Crowley feels the soft skin above Aziraphale’s beating heart, and, in the next moment, Aziraphale’s gentle hand covering his, surrounding it in warmth.

“You,” Aziraphale whispers. “Always you.” 

Crowley huffs. “You already have me.” 

“Then what else could I want?” 

_“Angel.”_ Crowley means for it to come out chiding, but his throat aches with too much love, and instead the word comes out the way it always does - full and yearning and awed. How could it be anything else, when he’s speaking to the most glorious angel in creation?

Aziraphale chuckles slightly. “I’m serious. I have everything I could ever desire.”

“But I want to give you something else.” 

“Oh, my sweet serpent.” Aziraphale catches Crowley’s other hand, the one on his belly, and gathers them both up to his lips; he kisses Crowley’s knuckles tenderly, love radiating into them so strongly Crowley would swear even his demonic nature can feel it. “You give me so much just by loving me. You make me feel worthy. You make me feel safe, and whole, and - and _wanted_ , in ways I didn’t think were possible. I’m happier with you than I ever dreamed of being.” 

“Safe,” Crowley mumbles. “Safe and wanted. Yeah. You are.” 

“And you let me care for you.” Aziraphale kisses the delicate inside of Crowley’s wrist, his soft lips a prayer against Crowley’s skin. It makes Crowley shiver with how forcefully he’s loved. “You let me hold you, and keep you, and protect you, and - my love.” Aziraphale’s voice goes hushed, almost hoarse. “That is _everything_ I want.” 

Crowley can’t respond to that in words. He closes the distance instead - follows his hands to Aziraphale’s chest, kisses the warm, yielding skin where his palm was pressed before. Feels the catch in Aziraphale’s breath beneath his lips. Then he wraps his arms again, tight this time, around Aziraphale’s great wonderful belly as his lips move down to meet it.

He kisses the stretch marks his fingers were mapping before. They’re thin and pale and slightly glowing with angelic aura; like gold dust scattered in stripes, a beautiful decoration to Aziraphale’s soft, plump skin. He sprinkles kisses all across Aziraphale’s belly before resting his cheek against the softest portion, letting himself be lost in it for a moment.

“I want to do everything for you,” he whispers. “I - I’ve loved you so _long_ , and we weren’t allowed to say anything about it for so long, but I’ve always gotten to do things for you. I’ve always loved it, angel. I don’t ever want to stop.”

_“Crowley.”_ That word, in Aziraphale’s mouth, contains the same reverence and love that _angel_ contained for Crowley. Crowley squeezes his eyes shut to keep his tears from falling.

“I want,” he chokes out, “I want to give you everything I have. Everything I am. You deserve it.” 

At first there’s only silence. Crowley doesn’t raise his eyes; he trusts Aziraphale, completely and utterly, and he keeps his face pressed into his belly without fear. Even when Aziraphale shifts position, even when a spark of magic in the air alerts Crowley that Aziraphale has just performed a miracle, he doesn’t let go. 

“There is one thing I could ask of you,” Aziraphale says, heartbreaking gentleness in his voice. “If you’re willing.” 

“Willing.” Crowley rubs at Aziraphale’s back. “Anything. Please.” 

“Shut your eyes, dear?” 

Crowley’s eyes are already shut, and they stay so as Aziraphale tugs him up so they’re chest-to-chest once more. As one of Aziraphale’s arms wraps around him, keeping him close, and their foreheads touch so Crowley can feel Aziraphale’s breath. As the other hand takes one of Crowley’s again. 

But his eyes fly open when something warm and smooth - something metal - is pushed gently onto his ring finger. He sees Aziraphale’s eyes, and they’re bursting with joy, with adoration, with unending, unfathomable love. 

“Marry me?” Aziraphale asks, simply. 

And this time the tears won’t be stopped. They rush to Crowley’s eyes all at once and they’re streaming before Crowley can get hold of himself, before he can process the request at all. Aziraphale doesn’t move; his arm stays around Crowley’s shoulders as they begin to tremble, his hand stays clasped over Crowley’s ring-adorned one. 

“You…” Crowley says. “You - you mean it? Really?”

“Of course I mean it, my darling.” Aziraphale presses a kiss to the ring. “If you’ll have me.”

“I will. I will, a million times, I’ll - oh, _angel -_ ”

“Shh.” With Crowley’s agreement Aziraphale releases his hand and wraps him in a hug. It’s perfect timing, as sobs are beginning to rise from Crowley’s chest; they heave through him, but Aziraphale holds him still and close and utterly safe. Aziraphale cradles Crowley’s shaking form with all the softness he possesses, and Crowley is _anchored_ , so perfectly steadied in this embrace, and there’s nowhere in the universe he’d rather be. 

“Now,” Aziraphale murmurs. “You’ve given me something else. The privilege and the joy of calling you my husband. Are you satisfied?” 

Crowley’s crying subsides into laughter. What can he say? What can he do, except stay in this embrace and kiss Aziraphale back - his forehead, and his cheeks, and his lips - and be content? Aziraphale wants him. Somehow, miraculously, he’s _all_ Aziraphale wants. So what can he do but give himself?

“I’m satisfied,” he says against Aziraphale’s lips. “With you, angel - always.”

**Author's Note:**

> Like my content? Find me on tumblr @[whatawriterwields](https://whatawriterwields.tumblr.com)!


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